Of Moonies
by clearblueskies
Summary: In which Sirius wants to talk about Moonies, and Remus wants James' transfiguration notes. One thing leads to another and Sirius learns about what Moonies do in their free time. *ahem snog ahem*


**Summary: In which Remus finds a Sirius who seems high, but not exactly. Sirius wants to talk about Moonies, and Remus wants James' transfiguration notes. One thing leads to another and Sirius learns about what Moonies do in their free time.**

**Of Moonies:  
><strong>

When Remus enters the dormitory, he is met by an unsurprisingly restless mass of fur, drool, and energy.

Remus sighs. "Hello, Padfoot."

The shaggy, black-haired, animated dog morphs into a shaggy, black-haired, animated seventeen-year-old boy, and there is, as far as Remus can see, no difference whatsoever.

Remus sighs again, and sits down on his bed. "Hello, Sirius."

Sirius grins.

Remus tries to smile back.

Sirius grins some more.

Remus says, "I came to look for James, I need his transfiguration notes."

Sirius is still grinning.

"Is something the matter, Sirius, or have you been ossified to look like that second year, Lockheart?

There is an explosion of noise and papers (Remus sighs as _The Goblin Revolts of 1678 _hits him in the face and _Gwamps Law of Elemental Transfiguration_ flutters down onto someone- probably Peter's- muddy boot) and Sirius settles- or, rather, bungs- himself down onto Remus' bed.

He is still grinning.

"Hello, Moony," he says.

"Hello, Sirius," Remus repeats, for a third time, in a tone that is considerable less enthusiastic than its predecessors.

"Mooonyyyy. Moony Moony Mooooonyyyyy," Sirius says, before adding three more 'Moonies' in quick succession, before a pause and- "I'm bored," he proclaims, to all and sundry. All being Remus, and sundry being the seven-years worth of notes scattered around the dormitory waiting to be read.

"Sirius-"

"Moony, what are you doing here?"

"I am sitting, Sirius," Remus says, slowly. "Sitting on my bed and speaking with you."

"Oh." Sirius frowns and waves a hand. "No, I meant here, here. Why are you not in the library doing Moony-stuff and studying and homework and whatever else it is that Moonies do in their spare time?"

It is testimony of Remus' self-control that he does not say, "Sirius, are you drunk?" as he so wants to, and instead says, "I need James' transfiguration notes, Sirius."

"Who?" Sirius asks, with much innocence, that does not convince Remus any more than Hagrid's protests that he was tending to his pumpkins had when they found him drunk in his pumpkin patch one evening, cussing at flobberworms.

"What?" Remus replies, and wonders whether he should call Madam Pomfrey, as Sirius is obviously in dire need of help.

"Who, what, when, where." Sirius shakes his head and sighs. He lies down and lets his legs dangle off one end and his head off the other. There is another flurry of papers. This time, _A Hundred and Sixty-Seven Uses of Wolfsbane_ makes its way across the dormitory, and slides under Peter's bed, joining, no doubt, enough biscuit crumbs, sugar quills, and bottles of butterbeer to feed the whole of Gryffindor house for a week.

Remus, again, exercises his great expanse of will power and, very determinedly, does _not_ look at the sliver of silky-smooth skin of Sirius' belly. However, he is only human (werewolf), and it is either _not_ look at Sirius' stomach (toned, muscled, white stomach) and _not_ kiss him, or give in to Sirius and call him Padfoot and ask him about what Padfoots did in their free time aside from pranking unwary passers-by, _or_, ask him if he was drunk. The last would no doubt upset him, because drunk-Sirius doesn't take kindly to being asked if he is drunk.

Remus settles for the least of the three evils, and imitates Sirius' position, trying not to wince when an essay on cheering charms is crushed under his right elbow.

Blood rushes into his head and he turns to look at Sirius.

"Hello," Sirius says. "Hello, Moony-thing, from the land of Moonies."

"Sirius, are you drunk?"

Sirius frowns, and his face, which is turning comically red, crinkles up into worried furrows. "No," he says, after a moment of contemplation, and Remus sighs with relief. A drunk Padfoot, when asked if he is drunk, goes ballistic, as was proved by the post-cup party of '76, that involved large amounts of syrup, a lot of screaming, and the injury of a large number of innocent bystanders. "No, I don't think so. All I remember is Prongs giving me something to drink before running off to Lily-land, to dance with the talking flowers."

Remus sits up, groans, groans some more when the blood rushes away from his face, and turns to the boy sitting next to him.

"How many times, Sirius," he starts, his voice ringing with the despair of the doomed. "How many times have I told you not to accept drinks from anything that looks even _slightly_ Prongs-like?"

"Thirty-seven," Sirius replies, promptly.

Remus takes a deep breath. "Ok. All right, so Prongs has drugged you, and now-"

"With muggle stuff," Sirius inputs helpfully.

Remus tries not to bang his head against the bed-post. He fails. A Sirius-hand pulls his him back by the hair, and he is forced to stop.

"Thanks." He tries not to sound hysterical. "Muggle. _Muggle_. Sirius, Muggle drugs affect pure-bloods really, really badly."

"No," Sirius is sitting cross-legged. "Not really, really, just really. Honestly, Moony. Don't you pay attention in muggle studies?"

"What do you mean-" Remus starts, trying to build up enough outrage to shock Sirius into silence.

"Enough about the muggle thingie that Prongs made me drink, Moony." Sirius cuts in. He waggles his finger. "You promised to tell me about Moony-land."

"Did I?" Remus wonders if maybe he can convince Peter to baby-sit Sirius so he can call Pomfrey and punish James.

"Yes," Sirius replies firmly. "You did. Last week, when we got plastered in Hogsmeade."

"And I am falser than vows made in wine," Remus says, turning his attention to the boy in front of him.

"That sounded like Shakes-whatsit. Whassizname? Never mind. But Oh! the betrayal! Oh! the- Um... Moony?"

Remus has grabbed Sirius' head and pulled it close, his fingers tangled in silky-black locks.

"Yes, Sirius?"

"What are you doing?"

Remus peers closely at one grey-blue (exquisite, gorgeous) eye. "Checking to see if your pupils are dilated," he says, and tilts Sirius' (all angles and bones and soft and smooth and beautiful) head to look at the other eye. The silence is distracting and Remus suspects that if it continues, he might do something he will later regret. "What do _you_ know about Moonies, Padfoot?" he asks, finally, and knows he will regret it.

"Moonies," Sirius starts in his best McGonagall-voice, only slightly off because of the fact that he is breathing rather fast. "Are are very very rare."

"Hmm."

"To find a Moony is such an exceptional occurrence, that most people who capture wild Moonies take them and lock them up and tame them- and it makes them loose their Moony-ness."

Sirius is talking like the blokes on Muggle TV (his dad got one in the summer), and Remus tries not to think of the ideas Sirius and James would get if they watched muggle TV. "Oh?" He says when Sirius pauses. He moves his hands to check Sirius' pulse.

"You can't tame a Moony, it's just _wrong_. Moonies need to be let loose among the large libraries and they need to be allowed to feed on big fat volumes of muggle books."

"Hmm."

"A Moony hates jam, and loves Marmalade. It hums The Beatles in the shower and can't stand wizard tunes." Remus, very resolutely, doesn't look up, because Sirius' voice is a little bit wobbly and nervous, but honest and real, and Remus is scared that if he does, he will tell Sirius That Which He Does Not Even Think Of, and _that_ would be a disaster.

"Moonies can live on chocolate, and are very docile, except once a month, when they turn into blood thirsty monsters." Remus tries not to smile, and looks stern, which is hard, because Sirius' voice is laughing.

"Moonies also get upset if you take away their friends. Moonies get along rather well with Padfoots, Prongs' and Wromtails, and talking Lilies, though Padfoots don't really get that. Moonies love their friends. And Remus?"

Remus thinks his heart stops for a second, right with Sirius' voice. "Yes, Sirius?" He vaguely realises that neither of them drew back after Remus 'checked Sirius' pupils' and that he is still tracing patterns on the back of Sirius' hand (warm, firm, calloused). Sirius doesn't seem to mind though, so neither does Remus. Purely platonic, of course. (Though certain parts of his body might beg to differ.)

"Padfoots," Sirius says, softly, "Rather like Moonies, too."

"Oh?" Remus thinks he can smell something familiar on Sirius' breath, something he hasn't had in a long time, something vaguely muggle and-

"Love even. Padfoots love Moonies."

"Oh." Hm. Maybe not quite so platonic after all. And Remus' enormous, gigantic reservoir of restraint goes down the drain, and he kisses Sirius Black.

Sirius tastes of coffee. It's right there, bitter and ensnaring and enrapturing and slightly sweet and with another taste hidden behind it that is just _Sirius_ - Remus has just about enough time to register this and make a quick little note in the back of his mind (he imagines that it is written on lined muggle paper), before Sirius kisses him back, and Remus' mind goes blissfully blank.

"I'm going to kill James for giving you coffee!" Remus gasps, when Sirius finally pulls away. But then Sirius _looks_ at him and Remus melts faster than the squishy chocolate his mother used to give him on the underground. "Later," he amends, and tries not to sniff at Sirius' delicious coffee-Sirius-breath before soft lips and teeth and tongues-

"Do Moonies do this in all their spare time?"

"They do now."

_**A/N: Written at 11:30 because I write when I'm stressed. Don't judge me.**_


End file.
